


Shipped Off

by RocksCanFly



Category: DC Animated Universe, DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: And Becky Can't Fucking Win, Artemis Crock Is Not Above Manipulating Her Idiot Friends, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kaldur Just Wants A Rest..A Break... Please, M/M, Old Lesbian Side Characters Are The Best Side Characters, Roy Harper's Life Is A Cosmic Joke, Sharing a Bed, Yoga Is Good For Your Health But Bad For Your Sanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9254576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocksCanFly/pseuds/RocksCanFly
Summary: How Roy Harper found himself, against all odds, fake-engaged to his best friend. Which would be fine, you know, not a big deal, anything for the mission and all that—--except for the fact that, well, he’s a little gay for his best friend.Or: Roy and Kaldur have been dancing around one another for too damn long, and the League finally decides to do something about it.





	1. I'm Going On A What?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My_King_And_Your_Lionheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_King_And_Your_Lionheart/gifts).



> A belated gift for the lovely my-king-your-lionheart over at tumblr! Written for the YJ Secret Santa Exchange! She requested Fake Relationship AU with friends to lovers and a happy ending. Sorry that it's not taking place during the timeskip, and for how late this is, but I sincerely hope you enjoy!
> 
> The next chapter should be out in a month or so when I get back from some RL stuff that involves not having internet for about three weeks!
> 
> Also, shout out to Shade's Ninde for a fantastic beta job, and for providing the title of the fic and a ton of inspiration and encouragement!

It was five in the morning when Roy Harper’s communicator went off.

Groaning, he rolled over to fumble the button onto speaker. Squinting, he blearily made out the name on the caller ID.

“Why the fuck are you waking me up at five in the morning,” he grumbled, burying the side of his head back into his pillow. “If someone isn’t dead—“

“Relax, Red.” Artemis’s voice came through muffled and _suspiciously_ nasal, like someone was pinching her nose. “I need a favor.”

Scrubbing at his face with his free hand, Roy glared half-heartedly at the communicator, sleepily willing the admittedly diminished force of his stink-eye to transmit through the speaker and shame his ex-sister-in-law into a lower volume. “…Is that supposed to make me less annoyed at the fact that you woke me up at _five in the morning_ —“

“Shut up, Harper, we both know you weren’t getting any sleep anyway,” Artemis snarked, pausing mid-sentence to blow her nose.  “I know that Lian has the flu.”

Roy yawned, jaw stretching wide. “How the hell—“

“It’s a Crock thing,” she interrupted, yawning through the sentence. Roy quietly ticked a mark in his favor, stubbornly suppressing the urge to yawn again in return. “In addition to hilarious childhood trauma, our dad blessed Jade and I with the Crock curse of getting the flu every winter around this time.”

Roy admittedly didn’t know much about genetics, which in hindsight was a little weird, because the whole clone thing supposedly should have gotten him interested, but that sounded like bullshit.

But again, _five in the morning._ So he decided to roll with it. “Okay, but that still doesn’t—“

“Also Jade told me.”

What Jade and Artemis actually chose to share with one another would never not be a puzzle to Roy. So far, most of it seemed to concern Lian, because what ever his ex-wife and her sister’s disagreements, the one thing they did seem to agree on was that the whole world could burn if it would keep Lian Harper warm. “Thought so.”

“Okay, so. Speaking of horrible Crock genes and getting the flu—“

“Is that why you sound like you tried to go down on Killer Croc?”

“Okay. That was disgusting, first off," Artemis blustered, and Roy could picture her flapping her hands angrily at the communicator. “And I don’t know if I hate you more for the pun or for the mental image now seared into my brain. Why do you know what Killer Croc’s dick looks like? Do you? Why do you? Why would you even say that.”

Roy brought the communicator very close to his face, whispering harshly. “Listen hear you little shit. It’s five in the morning, I haven’t slept in three days because my four year old’s body is leaking snot everywhere and she’s still young enough to throw tantrums, and you. Woke. Me. Up.”

“You’re a vindictive bitch,” Artemis snarled.

“And?”

“ _And_ I need you to cover for me for a mission.”

Roy sat up, professional pride and a lifelong sense of one-upmanship kicking exhaustion out the door. “What, like a patrol? I can see if Ollie will sit, I guess.”

Artemis went quiet for a moment, before continuing somewhat tentatively. “…More like a two week minimum undercover operation.”

“Oh, _fuck you_ , Crock.”

“Please!” Artemis wheedled. “You’re the only person who I trust to do this!”

Roy sighed, resigning himself to his fate. “Who’s gonna watch Lian?”

“…have you noticed that it's suspiciously quiet at your place.”

Roy shot out of bed, running bare-ass naked to his daughter’s room. The small bed--lovingly handcrafted by Lian’s ‘Uncle Connie’, who somehow picked up _woodworking_ in _Kansas_ \--was empty both of his sick daughter and her favorite dinosaur plushie.

Beet red, Roy stalked back to his bedroom, grabbing his communicator to growl into it. “You fucking bit—Did you send Jade to _kidnap_ my daughter?”

Artemis huffed, dramatic impact somewhat ruined by the sneeze that preceded it. “Okay first of all she’s not just your daughter,” she defended. “She’s _my_ niece. And also Jade’s daughter, which is less important but also true.” She paused to blow her nose noisily.

Roy flinched away from the communicator in disgust. Intellectually he knew you couldn’t get sick from talking to someone over the phone. But. Still. _Gross_.

“Point is,” Artemis continued, “It’s _so_ not kidnapping. Second of all literally all of us are sick right now and we’re going to hole up at my mom’s and be miserable and eat pho for the next week while we recover. Think of it as a vacation.”

Roy slumped back onto the bed, scratching his hand through his hair resignedly. He knew when he was beat. “A vacation you arranged so you could manipulate me into a two week long mission you volunteered for.”

“…It’s a cruise in the Mediterranean?”

Roy scoffed. “Why the fuck were you going undercover for two weeks on a cruise in the Mediterranean?”

“It miiiiiight be a cover operation for a cult.”

Of fucking course. “Ah. Okay. That still sounds _suspiciously_ benign,” Roy said. “And since I’m too old to believe in things like having my sick daughter taken off my hands so I can go on a cushy undercover mission, I’m going to need some more details before I agree to _shit_.”

“You’d be going with Kaldur,” Artemis said with the air of a lawyer who knows she’s already won the case and is just making final remarks for formality’s sake.

Roy slumped back fully into the bed, thoroughly defeated. “Is he the only other person going?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck it. Fine,” Roy groaned, trying desperately to preserve some dignity and pretend he was still upset about having to take a last minute assignment.

“Fantastic,” Artemis chirped, not buying Roy’s shit for a moment. “Mission brief is tomorrow at the Watchtower. And remember to bring a suit!”

“Why the fuck would I need to bring a—Artemis? Artemis!”

* * *

It was a couples cruise.  
  
And not just any couples cruise. It was a _couples retreat_ , for married or otherwise serious couples having communication issues.  
  
And Kaldur wasn’t just going with Roy.

No. He was going _with_ Roy.  
  
As his _fiancé_.  
  
_You think you’re so fucking slick_ , Roy texted Artemis, furious.  
  
_I have no clue what you’re talking about_ , she texted back five minutes later, after Roy had a chance to go over the glossy cruise pamphlet, horror building in his gut. Couples massage classes. Couples cooking classes. Sessions with a certified marriage counselor. Couples pottery. Ballroom dancing.  
  
This was going to be a nightmare.  
  
It’s not that Roy thought doing this things with Kaldur will be awful. In fact, if anyone, Kaldur was probably the exact person who Roy would have the least terrible time with.  
  
Which was exactly the problem.  
  
Roy thought he’d done an okay job, over the years, at hiding his obnoxiously massive and persistent crush on his best friend. Obviously he hadn’t fooled everyone, because there was no way Artemis _didn’t_ plan this, the little shit, but he was pretty sure most everyone else he knew had no idea how badly Roy wanted to find out what Kaldur’s mouth tasted like.  
  
He was especially sure that Kaldur didn’t know, because he’d been very fucking careful not to let him know.  
  
Because Kaldur was wonderful, and refined, and elegant and controlled and most definitely not interested in tying his life to a mess like Roy Harper’s.  
  
"Pulling off a fake marriage shouldn't be too hard for you two," Dinah said, addressing Kaldur. "Despite Roy's previous relationships and your...lack of experience, I'm confident the two of you can make it work."  
  
"Are there any specific relational issues that Rory and Kosta are supposed to have?" Kaldur questioned. He stood casually next to Roy, addressing Dinah across the briefing table. His arms were crossed loosely, hip cocked. All in all, he was entirely too calm about the situation in Roy's own opinion.  
  
Dinah grinned. Roy felt a shudder run down his spine.  
  
"Good of you to ask, Aqualad," she said. "Rory has anger management issues, while Kosta has a tendency to self-isolate and become non-communicative when he experiences stress."  
  
"You certainly avoided adding any element of realism to the charade," Kaldur observed wryly. A small smile played on his lips, resting butterfly-like, light and fleeting, about to take wing.  
  
Roy pinched himself harshly. The mission would probably go better if he didn't get poetic about Kaldur's lips.  
  
"I assure you that any resemblance between the fictional personas depicted in this briefing and real persons is coincidence," Dinah deadpanned, manipulating the screen on the table to display Rory and Kosta’s profiles. "The fact that Rory is a champion archer and Kosta is a World University Games championship swimmer who met met when Kosta transferred from his school in Greece to Rory's university is also to be discounted."  
  
Roy frowned, suspicion creeping up the raised hair of his arms. "These profiles seem awfully complete for something that was thrown together at the last second," he commented, narrowing his eyes at Dinah's poorly hid smile. "I thought this mission was originally planned out for Artemis and Kaldur."  
  
"I wrote several profiles of likely teams as back-ups," Dinah said casually. Roy knew by the smirk she threw his way that she was lying through her teeth, but chose to keep quiet. Continuing their argument about why her trying to get him and Kaldur together simply wouldn’t fucking work in front of Kaldur wasn’t exactly something he felt up to today.

Smug, Dinah turned back to the table, flicking the screen to display a large blueprint. "This is the boat you'll be taking for the couple's cruise. I've already given Aqualad most of the details. Roy--how much did Artemis fill you in on?"

  
Roy shrugged noncommittally. Normally he tried to make briefings as easy as possible, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment.  "She said it was an undercover mission."  
  
Dinah's eyes twitched. Roy knew from experience that she was barely restraining herself from rolling them. If they were alone she would, but Kaldur's presence had always weirdly pushed Dinah to act mature. More of a leader/mentor, less of an exasperated older sister.  
  
"Specifically you're going undercover to investigate a possible cult," she elaborated, switching the display to a colorful webpage. Cheery, uniformly happy looking counsellors stared back at them, all of them eerily identical in their purple polo shirts and khaki slacks. "The company that runs the cruise line specifically targets rich couples with their ad and sales agency."  
  
Roy snorted. "Spam mail and classism doesn't exactly strike me as conspiracy worthy."  
  
"The issue lies not in how the couple are recruited for the cruise, my friend," Kaldur interjected. "But in what happens after the cruise has been completed."  
  
Roy cocked a brow, turning to face Kaldur. "What? Low customer satisfaction? Turns out taking a luxury cruise doesn't magically solve you and your SO's deeply seated relationship issues?"  
  
"Actually, the cruise has a hundred percent success rate amongst couples that were recruited," Dinah corrected. "The rate is lower amongst couples who signed up on their own, but that's not the problem either."  
  
"So they're decent at their job. Still not seeing where the whole cult thing plays in."  
  
"It's after the cruise where the concerns start cropping up." With a flick of her wrist, Dinah shifted the display to a three dimensional layout of an eerily Stepford-esque suburb. Displayed on the side of a series of pie charts, detailing what looked to be stock investments.  
  
"Almost every couple recruited for the cruise ends up investing all of their resources into the company," Dinah said, gesturing to the charts. "One month after the end of their vacation, each couple sells their home, cuts off contact with their friends and family, and moves to the same real estate development in LA." Dinah gestured to the holomap. "The development is owned by the same parent company that owns the cruise line."  
  
Kaldur hummed. "All of these couples have careers or own businesses, yes? What becomes of those?"  
  
Dinah flicked to another screen, a long list of lobbying groups, NGOs, and international corporations. "Many of them go on to work for the company, or move into careers used to advance the company's interests internationally. Senators and congress members, diplomats, business tycoons, tech executives--many of the people they've gone after are very influential in addition to being wealthy."  
  
"How exactly did this come to the League's attention?" Roy questioned.  
  
Dinah shrugged. "We have members who have been acquainted with several of the targeted couples."  
  
Roy snorted. "I didn't think Ollie knew any married couples."  
  
Dinah's lip twitched, her face struggling to maintain composure in front of Aqualad. "Wrong billionaire, Red Arrow," she corrected, drawing a small velvet box from her jacket. "However, I think you'll find that Ollie knows at least one soon-to-be-married couple. Starting today."  
  
Dinah handed the box across the table to Roy, smirking.  
  
Uneasily, Roy accepted the box, prying it open slowly.  
  
"Really?" he deadpanned, shooting Dinah a poisonous look.  
  
Her smirk widened. "Really."  
  
Nestled in white silk were two matching golden bands.  
  
Kaldur shifted closer, eyeing the box and its contents curiously. "While the gesture is appreciated," he remarked to Dinah, "I was under the impression that Kosta and Rory were merely engaged. Is it not tradition that only one partner wears such a ring?"  
  
Dinah smiled beatifically. "They are, and it is. Those are your purity rings."  
  
Roy flushed red. "You've gotta be shitting me," he squeaked, holding the rings out from himself like poisonous snakes.  
  
Dinah burst into laughter, hand over her mouth to muffle her snickering. Kaldur even smiled, chuckling quietly at Roy's expense.  
  
"Holy shit, your _face_ ," Dinah wheezed, supporting herself on the briefing table.  
  
"What. The. Fuck," Roy grit out, anger simmering to the surface. "And you!" Roy pointed to Kaldur, who was trying and failing to hide his silent chuckles. "Stop laughing! Were you in on this?"  
  
Kaldur marshaled his composure, visible straining to keep a smile from overtaking his somber expression. "Of course not my friend," he assured, then broke back down into quiet chuckles. "But your _face_ \--"  
  
"They're glamor charms," Dinah interrupted, having gotten control of herself. "And _engagement_ rings. Both partners can wear them, even if it is a little unusual. Even though neither of you are exactly well known, we can't risk anyone recognizing you. Not only would it blow the mission, but they may decide to try what ever mind altering technique they've been using on their victims on you two."  
  
Kaldur, finished laughing at Roy's expense, the traitor, interjected. "It would also be fairly hard to hide my own peculiarities from the crew and other guests for two weeks without magical assistance."  
  
Roy glanced down at said peculiarities. Namely, Kaldur's webbed hands. "About that," he said, grabbing one of Kaldur's wrists to display said hand to Dinah. "How the hell is he supposed to wear a ring?"  
  
Dinah rolled her eyes openly, having given up on any semblance of professionalism. Openly laughing her ass off at her boyfriend's former sidekick had sunk that ship already. "Pull them _out_ of the box, Harper."  
  
Roy did so, revealing that one of the rings was attached to a thin, gold chain. "Oh."  
  
"Oh," Dinah repeated smugly. "Well, go ahead and put them on now. Might as well make sure they work and let you two get used to your new appearances."  
  
Roy eyes the rings suspiciously. "This thing isn't going to make me a blond, is it?" He looked up, meeting judgmental stares from both his companions.  
  
Roy flushed. "Oh come on," he defended. "You know I don't mean blond is a bad thing," he gestured to Kaldur and Dinah's own shimmering, golden hair. "It just--" he shrugged helplessly, unable to come up with a good defense.  
  
Kaldur nodded sagely, placing an understanding hand on Roy's shoulder. Roy tried to ignore the way his skin thrilled to the touch, praying the others would write off his increasing blush as embarrassment.  
  
"It is alright, my friend," Kaldur assured. "We are all aware you would look awful as a blond."  
  
"Thanks," Roy grumbled, slipping his ring onto the appropriate finger. "Come here." Roy gestured for Kaldur to turn around, fastening the golden chain around the other man's elegant neck when he did so.  
  
Roy gamely tried to ignore the way Kaldur's skin felt beneath his hands, smooth and warm, or the slight shudder that ran through Kaldur's body when Roy's hands brushed accidentally against his gills. It wasn’t easy, and it’d probably be best to move away before any... _problems_ started presenting themselves. Itself.

Settling the necklace in place and stepping away, Roy couldn't help but admire the look of the gold against Kaldur's rich brown skin. 

* * *

Kaldur liked to think that, throughout the years, he had endured quite a few trials with the quiet dignity his mother had raised him with.  
  
Childhood bullying, slurs regarding his appearance on both land and sea, the unwanted role as Team leader, the debacle with the Invasion, the _deaths of friends_ \--  
  
This latest indignity--foisted upon him by one Artemis Crock, a traitorous villain of the most _sinister_ machinations and one of his greatest friends--promised to leave his dignity as nothing but a crumpled ruin.  
  
Because Kaldur'ahm of Shayeris could bear a lot things, but being engaged to Roy Harper was not one of them.  
  
It's not that, Kaldur thought as Roy drew Zatanna’s charmed rings from their velvet casing, he _minded_ the thought of being engaged to Roy Harper. Of having his hands on his skin, of sharing his ring and his life and his love with his best friend.  
  
It's that Roy would _never_ put his hands on his skin, would never _agree_ to this mission, if he knew just how desperately Kaldur wished this farce could be a reality.  
  
So it was with the greatest restraint that Kaldur stood, stock still, while Roy clasped the golden chain that bore his engagement ring around his neck. The archer's warm, callused hands brushed Kaldur's sensitive gills, sending a tingle of hot lightning shooting down his spine. Kaldur bit viciously down on his tongue, silencing a gasp, but was unable to suppress an involuntary shudder.  
  
Balefully, Kaldur remembered that the cruise included decidedly tactile activities such as couples massage and dance classes. He felt his stomach drop even as his traitorous heart gave a faint flutter.  
  
_This mission will be the death of me_ , he decided dourly, and turned back to Black Canary for the rest of the mission brief, careful to avoid Roy's eye.


	2. I Am Rory, Rory Is Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're on a boat, motherf*ckers. 
> 
> Or: Kosta and Rory Experience Embarrassing Gifts, Suspicious Chocolate, Awkward Boners, and Creepy Becky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Shade's Ninde (shadesninde.tumblr.com) for the awesome beta job, and to My-King-And-Your-Lionheart for the patience on the filling of this fill. 
> 
> And thanks to all of you who have been sending in the awesome feedback--its seriously appreciated, guys, and its the high light of my day when I hear how you're enjoying the story! Thanks!

A day later, on the morning of the cruise, Roy and Kaldur met Dinah at a cafe on the Star City wharf.

“Ollie sends his regards,” Dinah greeted the pair, sliding into a metal porch chair across from them. It was a fantastic morning, warm with a cool breeze that rippled the water out in the harbor. The sun was rising on the horizon as the three settled in for eggs and coffee on the cafe patio, hashing out the last minute details of the plan.

“I see that is not all he sent,” Kaldur observed, eyeing the small leather satchel Dinah placed in the middle of the table.

She grinned. “It's Ollie. You couldn't honestly expect he wouldn't have _some_ fun with this.”

Roy glared at the satchel. He has suspicions about its contents that, if proven correct, were going to end with Ollie’s beard getting mysteriously shaven off.

“I'm sure whatever he sent will be of use,” Kaldur assured, oblivious.

Then, to Roy’s horror and Dinah’s visible, _grinning_ delight, Kaldur opened the bag on the table.

 _‘Fuck shaving’_ , Roy thought, staring dumbly at the brightly colored assortment of condoms, lube, and sex toys that filled the bag. ‘ _I'm dyeing that fucker_ **_green_** _.’_

Kaldur stared at the contents for three long seconds, face blank. Then, blushing, he snapped the satchel closed, handing it to Roy gingerly, as if it were a bomb.

Roy accepted it automatically, grimacing and placing the satchel on the tiled patio.

“I'm sure we will find some sort of use for Oliver’s...gift,” Kaldur said gamely. Only the graciousness trained so firmly into him by his mother kept him from chucking the thing into the harbor.

Dinah smirked. “I’m sure you will.” Then, not skipping a beat, she pulled a thin file from her tote, sliding it across the table while Roy silently choked on his eggs.

“My gift is a little more practical,” she said, as Kaldur flipped the file open, scanning through it. Inside were ticket stubs for a flight from BWI to Rome, and train tickets from Rome to Naples. Fake passports, insurance cards, Maryland state ID’s, and cruise itineraries rounded out the official paperwork contents of the file. Photos of Roy and Kaldur, expertly edited to show the two as college students and in their respective sports uniforms, were also enclosed.

“This is pretty thorough,” Roy commented, impressed despite his anger over Ollie’s ‘gift’. “But there aren't any of Kosta and Rory together.”

“Not yet,” Dina said, smiling, and withdrew a polaroid camera from her seemingly bottomless bag. “Smile, boys.”

Sighing, Roy grabbed Kaldur’s hand in his own, leaning in and kissing the other man on the cheek. Roy was pleased when Kaldur went with the impromptu scene, faking flustered surprise while Dinah flashed the camera.

“Okay,” she said, shaking the photo out, pleased. Rather than handing it to them, however, she tucked it into an inner pocket of her light leather jacket.

Raising the camera back up, Dinah gave Roy and Kaldur a shit eating grin. “Now one with the rings _on_ ,” she said brightly.

It took all of Kaldur’s diplomatic skill to keep Roy from wrestling the photo from Dinah in the middle of the cafe. Sure, it was pretty empty this early in the morning, but despite Roy’s claims that he ‘totally could have gotten away with it’, Kaldur didn't want to get banned from yet another Star City restaurant for property damage.

After Kaldur got Roy to settle down, the three of them managed to finish breakfast and iron out the last minute details of the plan with no blood spilt. Roy and Kaldur would Zeta to a small base the League maintained in Rome before taking the train down to Naples, where they would board the ship late in the afternoon.

“Try not to explode anything,” Dinah said, hugging them each in turn outside the hidden entrance to the Star City Zeta tunnel nearest to the harbor. “And have _fun_ ,” she commanded Kaldur, shaking him lightly by the shoulder.

Smiling softly, Kaldur put his his fist to his chest, bowing a traditional Atlantean salute. “I shall do my best,” he promised.

Dinah smiled back, fond. “See that you do. And you,” she said, turning to Roy. “Stay out of trouble.”

Roy crossed his arms. It'd be much more intimidating, he knew, if he wasn't wearing the powder blue polo and khakis Artemis had insisted on over Skype that morning. “You're sending me on an undercover mission on a two week cruise in the Mediterranean,” he snarked. “Any trouble is _your_ fault.”

Rolling her eyes, Dinah pulled him in for another hug. “Don't fuck this up, Harper,” she hissed, breath hot in his ear. “If you come back and you haven't kissed that man I’m locking the two of you in a _closet_.”

“I hate you, too,” Roy whispered sweetly, squeezing her tight. She was stubborn, and meddling, but she'd kicked his ass exactly when and where he's needed it more times than he could count. She was like an older sister to him, and if that meant a little interfering in his love life, he could deal.

Picking up his leather messenger bag and rollaway, Roy looked at Kaldur. “Ready, beautiful?” he joked, stepping into the large, hollow dumpster facade that hid the Zeta beam.

 _So this is how I die_ , Kaldur thought quietly, stepping calmly into the dumpster. His heart sang, because the gods truly hated him. If Roy calling him a pet name gave him heart palpitations, Kaldur realized, recalling the list of romantic activities planned for the cruise, he was going to need a defibrillator by day three.

Kaldur stood beside Roy, face blank. “When you are, my dear,” he deadpanned.

Smiling and waving farewell to Dinah, both men wished for death or, at the very least, that their hearts would stop beating unreasonably fast in their chests.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

* * *

 Rebecca Snyder never planned to be a part of a cult bent on world domination. What she _had_ planned on was attending Purdue University for her Master’s in Family and Marriage Therapy, and on a life spent visiting exotic locales. A woman who grew up in the Iowa foster care system, Rebecca Snyder had built her adult life on two things she never had access to as a kid--stable relationships and travel.

Still, even successful grad students set to graduate _cum_ _laude_ from Purdue had to pay tuition. Hence a summer/winter job as a cruise line relationship counselor, because student debt doesn't pay itself and it was a position she could at least use on her resume.

Sure, the purple polo shirt and khakis outfit was awful, and her employers were secretly a cult bent on world domination, but in this job market? Beggars couldn't be choosers.

All in all, she’d been able to actually help a lot of couples throughout the last three seasons working for Mythic Cruises. If a couple people got brainwashed along the way? Well, at least their relationships were happy. And someone had to rule the world, right? At least these guys did it without the wars, alien invasions, giant robots, or city destroying plant monsters _some_ wannabe global hegemonies would use.

So, with that shaky reasoning and her mountainous student debt in mind, Becky waved hello to the approaching couple, ready to welcome them aboard to the S.S. Circe.

“Welcome aboard Mythic Cruise Lines!” she said cheerily, eyes squinting in the bright Italian sunlight. “My name is Becky, and I'll be your assigned counselor for the duration of the trip!”

The couple approached, pulling along rolling suitcases. The brunette, a grumpy looking man with an even tan and terrible taste in polo shirts, carried a discreet black leather satchel. The other man, dark skinned with high cheekbones and bleached blonde hair, shook Becky’s outstretched hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Becky,” he greeted, voice deep and smooth.

He tilted his head, questioning through the sunglasses he wore--identical to his partner’s. Which was, Becky was willing to admit, kinda cute. “However, I was under the impression we would be working with multiple counselors over the course of the retreat. To explore ‘multiple, dynamic paths to peaceful resolution and restoration of trust and affection’?”

Becky quirked her brow, glancing at her manifest. Only two couples remained on the list, and Becky somehow doubted that these two men were named Rosa and Claudia. “Haha! Looks like someone's been doing his homework. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Flanagan or Mr. Okeanos?”

“Kosta, please,” the handsome man insisted, identifying himself as Kosta Okeanos. Meaning the grumpy, kind of rude guy behind him must be Rory Flanagan. “I do not wish to be formal with the woman who is supposed restore harmony between my fiancé and I,” Kosta continued, gesturing to Rory.

Rory, for his part, looked pretty damn dubious about the whole thing. Well. Near as Becky could tell, behind those sunglasses.

Becky forced an even brighter, cheerier smile, deciding to focus her attention on Kosta. “Of course! Well, Kosta, while you will be working with a multitude of talented relationship maintenance professionals--we call them RMPs, or Rompers for short!--I will be _personally_ monitoring your and Rory’s progress,” she chimed, handing them a small stack of pamphlets and schedules.  “I’ll also be issuing you any scheduling updates, answering any questions you have, and ensuring that we as a staff do whatever possible to help you two make the most of the retreat!”

Kosta accepted the pamphlets, passing them to his fiance, who tucked them neatly into his anonymous black satchel. Frankly, Becky thought to herself, the two men looked more like FBI agents trying and failing to go on vacation than the cruise line’s usual clientele of aging, wealthy, significantly-less-muscular couples.

Shrugging it off--honestly, working for a cult can get you a little paranoid at times, Becky had to acknowledge--Becky clapped her hands together, fixing the pair with another cheerful grin. “Alright!” she exclaimed. “Now that we’ve got introductions out of the way, how about I lead the two of you to your rooms before I give a tour of the ship?”

Rory, shifting his roll-away to his back with an admittedly impressive arm, finally chose to speak. “If you’d just point me towards the bar I’ll be set,” he said.

Becky, uncomfortably conscious of the terrible job market as always, faked a laugh. Inside, however, she silently decided that Kosta was obviously too good for him.

* * *

Once they got to their room, Kosta politely declined the rest of the tour. “Rory and I have had a long journey here from the States,” he said, laughing self-deprecatingly. “It may have been overly ambitious to try and see Rome after our flight.”

Becky smiled brightly, blonde ponytail swishing as she nodded enthusiastically. “That’s fine! You two relax for now! Just don’t miss out on disembarkation at sunset--it's a treat!”

The door to the cabin closed behind her, and Roy flopped immediately down on the couch, tossing his sunglasses onto a side table. "Becky scares me,” he grumbled, face buried in the cushions. 

Kaldur regarded the door warily, exploring the small room. He placed his own glasses on the bedstand. "She is certainly...enthusiastic."

Roy gestured vaguely at the door. "Honestly?” he said, flipping over onto his back to regard Kaldur lazily. “I'm tempted to just kidnap her and present her as evidence that this thing really _is_ a cult." 

Kaldur laughed, settling his suitcase on the bed and beginning to unpack, fastidious as usual. "I can see several immediate problems with that plan."

Roy fished a chocolate out of the shallow bowl built into the coffee table. "Like?"

Kaldur glanced at him. “Why are you--we do not know whether those are _drugged_ ,” he insisted, snatching the candy from Roy’s hands.

Roy rolled his eyes, pulling one of the League issued drug testing kits out of his pockets. Impatiently, he motioned for the return of the chocolate.

Kaldur handed it over, continuing. “We would have to risk touching her. For all we know she is a victim herself and the method of brainwashing is kinetically transferable."

Roy paused, mid-way through testing the _oh-so-suspicious_ chocolate with a pipet of something bright green and acidic. "...are you implying that Becky has cooties?" 

Kaldur pulled his suit out, going to hang it in the small closet attached to their cabin. "...cooties?"

Roy briefly considered whether explaining the weird terror that kids of different genders in the US regarded one another with from the ages of five upwards would be worth the time and confusion. "...Never mind. Point is. She's creepy. I'm going to keep an eye on her."

Kaldur, the absolute monster, _folded_ his underwear and socks neatly as he placed them in the dresser drawer. "As she has already expressed that she will be doing the same to us, I have no objection." 

Poking the slightly melted chocolate, Roy looked carefully for any signs of pigment change. Seeing none, he plucked another chocolate from the bowl, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth quickly. He shot a smug look at Kaldur, who rolled his eyes in return, then went back to hanging his ties like a weirdo. "Wait. You think she was threatening us? Like, she's onto us?"

Kaldur hmm’d, finished unpacking, and twitched the doors to the sun deck open, breathing the sea air in deeply. "It is a possibility I would not discount."

Roy got up, going to join Kaldur near the sliding doors. Neither of them went fully outside, however--the anti-bug hardware that they both carried in their bottom of their suitcases wasn’t guaranteed to work well in open spaces. "Great. We haven't even left shore yet and this thing is already turning into a clusterfuck of intrigue.”

Turning, Roy caught Kaldur staring at him, mouth twisted into a disdainful frown.

Roy cocked a brow. “What?”

Kaldur shook himself, blushing. “My apologies. It's just that brown does not suit you,” he explained.

Roy scoffed. “I guess Dick isn't the only one with a thing for redheads.”

Kaldur flushed even darker, straightening. “I do not--”

“Relax, Kal,” Roy said, putting his arm around Kaldur’s tensed shoulders. “It was a joke.”

Kaldur's shoulders slumped, an embarrassed smile playing on his lips as he leaned into the contact. “Of course.”

Roy grinned, jostling Kaldur companionably. “Can you imagine what we’d look like if Zatanna has spelled us to look like each other’s type?”

Kaldur snorted. Burying a rueful thought-- _he'd wonder why it didn't work on you, and then I would perish from embarrassment, and then Artemis would never allow me to live it down_ \--he dug a small jab at Roy’s preferences. “While I'm certainly able to ‘kick your ass’, I doubt I'd make a very convincing woman.”

“Oh,” Roy said casually, shifting his stance. “So you think you can kick my ass?”

Kaldur crossed his arms. Begrudgingly, Roy had to admit they were pretty damn impressive ones. “My physiology makes that a forgone conclusion.”

None too subtly, Roy shifted his leg, eyes darting to the surroundings. Not a lot of floor space, sure, but the benefit of it being a ship cabin was that there was also little furniture to accidentally knock anyone’s head into. “Oh yeah?”

Kaldur smiled, completely aware of what Roy was planning and doing nothing to stop it. “Without doubt.”

The resulting wrestling match was the kind of undignified thing no one outside of a very small group would think Kaldur was even capable of being a part off. Thrown elbows, dirty tricks, jabs, kicks, and Roy was _damn_ sure that Kaldur even _bit_ him at one point.

It was the most fun either of them had had in months, and ended with Roy back flat on the enormous bed, Kaldur straddling his hips.

“You're fucking heavy,” Roy bitched, squirming underneath Kaldur’s weight.

Smirking, Kaldur sat back firmly, settling his center of mass over Roy’s hips, pinning him. “My Atlantean physiology--”

“Fuck your physiology,” Roy snapped, bucking. Balance lost, Kaldur tipped forward, putting his sides in arms reach.

Roy took advantage immediately, putting to use the darkest secret he had ever learned about the Atlantean in their ten years of friendship.

Kaldur--fearless, untouchable Kaldur--was _ticklish_.

“Cease, villain!” Kaldur chuckled helplessly, squirming away from Roy’s hands. Grinning evilly, Roy wrapped his legs around Kaldur’s waist, trapping him. “You--lack--all---honor,” Kaldur gasped, batting uselessly at Roy’s hand as he archer targeted his most sensitive spots with characteristic precision.

“Yeah,” Roy grinned, equally breathless, “But I’m kicking your ass.”

Eventually, Kaldur was able to get enough control of himself to capture Roy’s wrists, pinning those treacherous hands to the bed beside the archer’s smug face.

Leaning in, Kaldur couldn't help but smile in turn. “It seems we are at an impasse, my fri--” he began, and was cut off by the sound of the door swinging open.

“Hey you guys,” a young man, in an outfit identical to Becky’s--a purple polo with khakis--said as he walked distractedly into the room. He was balancing a stack of glossy pamphlets and a couple bottles of champagne.

“Becky told me to swing by with some ship maps and som--Oh,” he stopped, surveying the scene. “Oh, shit, I'm sorry,” he stuttered, backing back out, placing the champagne and apparent maps on the floor as he went. “I'll tell Becky you're doing fine!” He shouted, slamming the door closed. “Sorry for any interruptions!” His voice squeaked through, and he was gone.

Suddenly and painfully aware of just _how much_ of his and Roy’s bodies were touching, Kaldur rolled quickly off of him. Flustered, he misjudged the distance and, rather than rolling onto the bed, the Atlantean ended up as a blushing heap on the floor.

Normally this would be the time when Roy would pop over and make fun of him. However, Roy was currently trying to will the blood that had recently migrated south back to more northern climes, and didn’t have a lot of brainpower available for shit talking.

Altogether, it wasn’t a very inspiring start.

Eventually Kaldur managed to peel himself off of the floor. Pointedly, with an air about him like that of a cat that had just been caught doing something very foolish, he settled elegantly on the couch. Turning his head, he pretended to be distracted the the view of the wharf from their window.

Roy, body sufficiently berated into the only slightly excited state that was pretty much normal around Kaldur, sat up.

“So,” he started, and stopped, fiddling with the tassels on the loafers Artemis had forced him into.

Kaldur, eyes still fixed on the window, picked up the slack. “Regarding the bed situation.”

Roy startled, flushing. “Do you mean the situ--oh. You mean where we’ll be sleeping? You take it. I’ll take the couch--it's not like I haven’t slept on worse.”

Kaldur snorted despite himself. “While I _certainly_ agree that you've slept on worse--”

"--don't you get started on Comfy Couch again,” Roy warned. His limbs loosened. The tension in the room dissipated, eased by the comfort of a familiar argument. 

"It was _atrociously_ upholstered, lumpy, and smelled of cheap cigar smoke,” Kaldur shot back, smiling. Memories of drunken movie nights and early morning conversations aside, it really had been a _disgusting_ couch. “The fact that I tolerated its presence at all speaks volumes more of my understanding and patience than any mission ever has." 

Roy grinned, crossing his arms. "Fuck you, it was comfy.”

"It was _infested_ ,” Kaldur insisted, shaking his head. Then, biting down the instinct that screamed that sharing a bed with his friend was a terrible idea if he really intended for said friend to remain unaware of his _much-more-than-friendly_ feelings, he continued: “Putting aside your former...arrangements, I see no reason as to why we cannot share the bed. It is plenty large enough, and if the counselor--"

"--also know as Creepy Becky," Roy interrupted, low-crawling forward on the bed to hang off its foot, stretching to snag another chocolate from the coffee table. 

Kaldur eyed Roy’s position, musing on how easy it would be to snatch the archer’s wrist and pull him off balance, sending him crashing to the floor. _Vengeance_ , a part of him said. _If he hits his head he’ll be unbearable about it for the next week_ , the pragmatic part of him said, much more loudly. "--if Creepy Becky were to discover us sleeping separate from one another it would weaken our cover." 

Roy flipped on his back, unfamiliar hazel eyes regarding him questioningly. "I thought we were _supposed_ to be having issues?" He unwrapped the chocolate, tossing it, and catching it in his mouth upside down. 

_Show off_ , Kaldur thought, fond. "Yes, but we are also here to alleviate them. If we do not appear to put effort toward improving our relationship our motives are more likely to be questioned." 

Roy pouted, chewing. "This means my plan for skipping all the classes and getting wasted at the bar the entire time is out, doesn't it?”

Kaldur leaned forward, flicking his friend on the nose. "I am afraid we will need to participate in the activities. Not only for our cover's sake, but also because I hardly think we'll uncover much while inebriated."

Roy hmm’d, swallowing the chocolate. "You'd be surprised."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. What's first on the schedule?"

* * *

_AC: so?????_

_AC: how’s the ship_

_AC: and I’m not talking about the boat_

_AL: Hello, Artemis. Yes, Roy and I arrived safely, no we have not been accosted by brigands, thank you for your concern. How is your ‘illness’ progressing?_

_AC: first of all fuck off i’m actually sick and personally i’m deeply wounded you’d even doubt that_

_AC: wheres the trust_

_AC: did those nights on your dads sub mean nothing to you_

_AC: also_

_AC: please._

_AC: you and red together on a mission?_

_AC: last thing i’m worried about is your safety_

_AC: except of course when it comes to condoms_

_AL: In the incredibly unlikely event that such precautions become necessary,_

_AL: Oliver has already seen fit to cover us in the department._

_AC: cover is such an awk word to use when we’re talking about this_

_AC: also thanks for the info_

_AC: imma torture your bf now_

_AL: I’d appreciate it if you would not._

_AL: But I’m aware that you don’t care._

* * *

_AC: SO APPARENTLY OLLIE GAVE YOU A SEX SACK_

**_RetiredAssailant_ ** _(RA) has blocked you!_

* * *

Apparently these counselors trained at a kids’ summer camp before trying their hand at fixing failing marriages, because the very first class on Kosta and Rory's schedule was a ‘couples icebreaker’.

Roy read out loud from the provided list of sample questions, face twisting incredulously. “How long have you been married, how many kids do you have, where did you meet, what's your favorite thing about your partner--Fuck, Kaldur,” he exclaimed, waving the pamphlet in disgust. “You sure we can't skip this? I feel like I'm back at that creepy prep school summer camp Ollie made me go to.”

Kaldur paused in his reading of his own pamphlets, sipping delicately from a glass of the champagne Becky’s minion had dropped off. “It's our first activity, and we would be remiss to miss it. We _are_ attempting to blend in.” He arched one stupidly nice blond eyebrow, and if it wasn't for the brown eyes and the slight differences in facial structure that Zatanna’s spell had wrought, it'd be one of the expressions that Roy had always found the most heartrendingly endearing. “Also, it does present an excellent opportunity for us to establish our cover story.”

Roy scoffed, dropping the pamphlet to go pull on a dress shirt and slacks. He'd had about as much as he could stand of looking like a prep school raised frat boy. “Only because it reads like a fucking interrogation checklist.”

Kaldur leaned over the coffee table, picking up the discarded pamphlet. He read a few lines, then paused, face twisting in confusion “...’what is your relationship like with your partner’s in-laws’? I'm afraid I don't understand the importance of this question.”

Roy pulled his bag up on to the bed, unzipping it and rummaging for his clothes. He rolled his eyes at Kaldur's appalled _Really, Roy_ when the other man saw the crumpled state of the contents. _Not all of us were in the military, fish sticks_.

“Oh, you know,” Roy said, frowning at his crumpled dress shirt. “Like how most husbands hate their in-laws and most wives’ mother-in-laws are raging bitches?”

Kaldur frowned, snatching the shirt from Roy’s hands. Impatient, he beckoned for the archer to hand him his creased slacks as well. “That is _not_ a normal dynamic in Atlantean familial groups.”

Roy silently handed over said slacks, sitting on the bed and watching, curious, as Kaldur soaked both garments in the sink. “It's actually not one on land either. But lots of guy comedians like joking about it when they build a set around how awful marriage is.”

Kaldur hung both garments, now soaked, from the shower railing, twitching them straight on their hangers. “I take it none of these comics are married?”

Comprehension dawning, Roy reached for another chocolate, smiling. He rarely got a chance to see Kaldur do magic outside of combat. “Oh no, they all are.”

Kaldur paused, looking over his shoulder, bewildered. “...they belittle their spouses in front of an audience of strangers? And this is humorous?”

Roy shrugged. He refused to take responsibility for--or claim real understanding of---a culture he’d largely been raised outside of. “Remember how I told you most of today’s culture is assholes laughing about being assholes?”

Turning back to the garments, Kaldur breathed deeply, then raised his hands. His tattoos glowed brightly beneath the thin fabric of his lightly made dress shirt, highlighting the strong lines of his shoulders. Roy pulled off his polo. The room seemed warmer than it had moments ago.

Drawing the water out in a thin, brightly glowing stream, Kaldur smiled in satisfaction. Roy’s shirt and slacks were left dry and perfectly smooth, not a single wrinkle remaining the the fabric. “I will admit I had not quite grasped the scope of the issue.”

Impressed despite himself, Roy did what he always did when he found himself opening his mouth to give someone a compliment: he shoved his foot in it instead. “Cool. You do curtains, too?”

Satisfaction instantly turning into annoyance, Kaldur turned, one hand on his hip.

He hadn’t _expected_ Roy to be shirtless, and frankly a part of him took it as direct attack on his person, but he didn’t let his surprise (or any other emotions) deter him from shooting back. “You imply that you’ve ever _owned_ curtains. Cretan.”

Roy raised a brow. “You’re aware that word’s kinda ableist, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Kaldur explained. “The implication was that you were from Crete, not that you had a congenital disorder.”

“Wait, isn’t Crete part of Greece?” Roy questioned, honestly confused. “I thought you were guys were _descended_ from Greece.”

Kaldur’s eye twitched, the globe of water glowing slightly brighter in his hands. “Are you implying that ancient Greece was one country?”

Roy, ignoring the sense of danger that tingled across his spine, shrugged. “Wasn’t it?”

Moments later, soaked, and regarding the pointedly closed bathroom door with some bafflement, Roy unblocked and texted Artemis. _What the fuck is a city state?_

She replied back: _u said greece was a country didn’t u? good luck getting in his pants now, dipshit._


	3. Instant Regret! Just Add Alcohol!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rory and Kosta meet The Ship's Favorite Lesbians, some dumb things are said on both sides, some dumber things are left UNSAID on both sides, Becky gets a clue, and the UST continues to drag on like a head-on collision through molasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know by now that I am very, very slow. But on the upside the next chapter is already about 1/3rd written, some this should be wrapping up in a few months or so. Thanks for staying tuned for the fantastic Titanic re-enactment that is Roy and Kaldur stumbling their way towards mutual happiness. Shout-out to my partner in crime and awesome beta, Shade's Ninde, for her excellent advice and dick jokes!

Three hours later, after enduring the couples icebreaker (which wasn’t a complete wash--Roy had had no idea that Kaldur’s favorite animals were waterfowl, for example. Kaldur, in turn, didn’t realize that Roy actually preferred horseback to motorcycles) and a _surprisingly f_ un double-date dinner Rory and Kostas stumbled back into their room, giggling breathlessly as the door slammed shut behind them.

“Holy shit,” Roy gasped, leaning against the door for support. Kaldur collapsed backwards on the bed, smiling giddily up at the ceiling.

" _Holy shit_ ,” Roy repeated, tugging his tie free from his collar and toeing off his shoes and socks. “That was fun. How? How is this stupid cruise fun?”

“I do not think we--or the League--could have accounted for Bertha and Rosa.” Kaldur deadpanned, then smiled as he remembered yet another one of the old couple’s vicious quips from dinner. He shucked his own shoes, making room on the bed as he settled in to enjoy his pleasant buzz.

Roy shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch. Kaldur got up on his elbows, raising a brow, but the four or five glasses of wine Rosa had poured for him tempered his usual reprimand. “Really.”

Roy rolled his eyes, flopping down next to Kaldur on the bed, arm tossed over his eyes. “God bless old lesbians.” He chuckled, nudging Kaldur’s foot with his own. “This mission might not be as bad as I thought, Fishsticks.”

Kaldur smiled softly, knocking his foot back against Roy’s. “Optimism? Who are you and what have you done with Roy Harper,” he mocked gently, peering side-eyed at Roy’s blurry profile.

Roy scoffed, jabbing a toenail lightly into one of Kaldur’s arches. He became momentarily distracted, noting how oddly smooth and resistant the skin there was, like a seal’s skin. Idly, Roy traced the outline of Kaldur’s foot with his own, fascinated by the differences between Kaldur’s anatomy and his. “Bertha got to me,” he murmured, taking in the feeling of the bed rising slightly with Kaldur’s breath, listening closely to the soft sound of it through the haze of wine. “Hard to be a hardass in the face of a happy old lesbian telling bawdy war stories from the seventies, you know?”

The world felt pleasantly warm, the low buzz behind Kaldur’s eyes quieting the anxiety of Roy’s bare skin against his. Warm, golden heat pooled in his stomach like honey, and he pressed his ankle against Roy’s own, fascinated as ever by the bristling hairs that adorned land dweller’s bodies.

Roy snorted, leg jerking when Kaldur accidentally brushed up against a ticklish spot. In retaliation, Roy prodded lightly along Kaldur’s ankle, searching for a weak point. Finding nothing but undaunted, he began to sneak his foot up Kaldur’s pant leg, pausing when he noticed something amiss.

“May I assist you?” Kaldur snarked, suppressing a full body shiver as Roy’s warm toes creeped further up his calf.

Roy laughed, fascinated with his discovery. Kaldur’s legs were completely hairless. “Did you shave them for the role?” he joked, rubbing absently at Kaldur’s skin, marveling at how smooth it was. Jade shaved her legs, on occasion, but for the most part he was used to the slight bristle of fine hairs, or the rough hair of his own. Touching Kaldur’s skin was _fascinating_.  

Kaldur rolled his eyes. “Twice in one night you demonstrate ignorance of my people,” he sighed. Then he stripped off his shirt, turning on his side to face Roy on the bed.

Roy blushed, somewhat at a loss when confronted with a Naked-Kaldur-Chest. “Look ma, no hair,” he joked weakly. Then, because he was drunk, and a little aroused, and most importantly himself (meaning that he had the ability to be very, _very_ stupid), he followed with: “Does that go all the way down?”

Kaldur blinked, processing the words, his skin slowly flushing as the reality of the situation fought its way through the haze of alcohol and socked him in the jaw.

Kaldur felt as though his face was afire, eyes widening as he realized the exact scope of the stupidity of lying drunk on a bed with his best friend/crush of ten years and the _added_ idiocy of, apropos of nothing, having turned the situation into lying drunk and _half-naked_ on a bed with his crush of ten years.

Roy, having begun his _own_ personal crisis as soon as the words left his mouth, finished before Kaldur. This enabled him to bolt upright and stumble into the bathroom before Kaldur had a chance to respond. “Gonna take a shower,” his brain said calmly over his shoulder, though admittedly what came out was more of a yelled garble.

Roy slammed the door shut behind him, stumbling to the faucet. He turned the thing to as high pressure and icy cold as it would go, stripping down and hopping in. He slid almost immediately to sit bare-ass against the tile, freezing water doing less of a job at making him sober and more of a job of making him drunk, embarrassed, horny, _and_ cold.

Roy settled his back against the quickly cooling tile, face pointed up into the spray. Eyes closed, he sucked in a slow, deep breath. “I’m an idiot,” he exhaled, settling his head between his knees.

Meanwhile, having retrieved a set of sleep clothes from his neatly packed drawer in the dresser, Kaldur lay carefully down on the bed, facing the open curtain and the night sky. He breathed deeply, willing the calm rocking of the ship on the ocean to settle his fluttering nerves.

Kaldur stared out into the dark expanse of sky and ocean, which was lit only by the silver light of the moon and stars.

A foolish, hopeful part of him, the part that had sat through hours of romcoms with M’gann and hate-read terrible romance novels at Artemis’s bequest, commented that Roy was spending an awfully long time in the shower. And that his eyes had, momentarily, seemed rather fixed on Kaldur’s bare chest. That rubbing one’s foot lazily up another’s calf is not usually an activity that purely platonic relationships include.

A larger part of him--the part that had lived through years of heartbreak at one friend’s hand or another--reminded him that he had never known Roy Harper to resist going after what he wanted. That he was reaching, because he was desperate and because ten years was a long time to dwell on a fantasy, that so much time and pain was liable to make any friendly touch into an invitation. That loneliness was a terrible excuse to pursue anyone, let alone one’s best friend.

Both parts were quiet as he glanced towards the closed bathroom door, hesitating. Then, silently, Kaldur switched his and Roy’s pillows.

Embarrassment and shame aside, something warm settled in Kaldur’s stomach as he buried his face in the faint smell of Roy’s cologne.

* * *

The next day dawned bright and early with a loud knock on Rory and Kosta’s cabin door.

Roy got up groggily, having fallen asleep on the too-small couch. Grumbling and stretching his sore back, he opened the door a sliver, doing his best not to disturb the lump still snoozing away on the bed.

“Good morning!” Becky said chirpily, peeking not so subtly over Rory’s shoulder. Her brows raised at the crumpled blanket and pillow on the couch. Wincing, Rory moved to block her view, stepping slightly outside the door so their voices wouldn’t wake the Sleeping Mermaid.

“Trouble in paradise?” Besky questioned, and Roy was damned if there wasn’t a smug little note to her seemingly-innocent question.

Rory shrugged noncommittally. “There _is_ a reason we took this cruise,” he said, voice gruff. God, he hoped that wasn’t a sore throat. The last thing he needed was to get sick on a mission. Admittedly, spending half an hour in a freezing cold shower probably wasn’t one of his brightest choices, but he seemed to be full of bad decisions last night.

Becky _hmm’d_. “True,’” she said, head tilted consideringly. Her blond ponytail was...disconcertingly bouncy. “On that note,” she recovered, thrusting a glossy leaflet in Rory’s face. “Here’s your guys’ schedule for today! Breakfast is up to you, of course. You can go to the buffet, grab something light from the coffee shop, or I can have a service sent to your room!”

Rory took the leaflet grudgingly, visibly considering crumpling it into a small ball. “I think we’ll skip on the room service.”

Becky shrugged, body language making it obvious that she didn’t actually give a damn what they decided to do for breakfast and that she was merely discharging her corporate duties. “I’ll see the two of you in an hour, then!”

With that, she continued down the hall, presumably to go wake her next hungover victims. Rory and Kosta may have gotten wasted last night, but they were far from alone.

Rory regarded the leaflet, reading it over as he stepped back into the cabin, shutting the door behind him. Roy snorted as he scanned the cheery text, becoming more and more convinced by the second that this whole thing was a ruse of Dinah’s meant to punish him for years of vocally pining after Kaldur while drunk on her couch.

Couples’ Yoga and followed by afternoon Happy Hour and a Massage Class? Just what his already out-of-control libido needed--Kaldur’s ass in yoga pants and an unavoidable reason to touch him.

Sighing and resigning himself to a full day of sexual frustration and leg crossing, Roy padded over to the bed to awaken Kaldur. “Hey fishsticks, time to wake up. Investigating to do.”

The lump failed to respond. Frowning, because even hung-over Kaldur was usually a pretty light sleeper, Roy moved to tug the covers back. “Rise and shine sleeping beau---the fuck?"

The lifted comforter revealed not the sleeping form of his best friend, but a pair of carefully arranged pillows. Kaldur was gone.

Keeping his cool wasn’t hard, because Roy was a superhero, _dammit_ , and a little thing like his best friend/decade long crush _potentially having been kidnapped by cultists_ wasn't going to make him lose it. So what if his hand shook as he opened the secret compartment in his suitcase to fish out the League locator, or if he fumbled the buttons a little while rapidly instructing the device to focus on and track Kaldur’s current location? Any trembling was the result of the hangover, not the tight knot of anxiety settling high in Roy’s gut as he waited for the bright, assuring dot of Kaldur’s locator to come blinking onto the map of the ship depicted on the screen.

The dot finally appeared, and Roy was relieved to see that Kaldur was still definitely aboard the ship. And then confused, because according to the tracker Kaldur was present in the room, which clearly wasn't correct.

Roy began a thorough search of the room. He wasn't panicking. Panicking people freeze up, right? So what if he was being a little violent while tossing the drawers open? He was hungover and grumpy. Not. Panicking. The likelihood of someone being able to sneak into the cabin, rip Kaldur's locator out from behind his molar, and abscond with the Atlantean in tow was very, _very_ low.

 _Unless we were drugged_ , Roy thought, pausing midway through ransacking the closet, tossing Kaldur's carefully hung clothes onto the floor. Rosa and Bertha were unlikely suspects, but they _had_ been disarmingly charming, and had plied both Kaldur and himself with alcohol...

The search of the room turned up nothing. Just as Roy was seriously contemplating tracking down and interrogating the two seemingly-kind old women, there was a noise from the balcony. Roy looked up to see Kaldur. Kaldur, who had appeared, dripping wet and dressed in a skintight, League-issued black stealth suit.

Roy wrenched open the glass sliding door, stepping into Kaldur’s space and poking him firmly in the chest. “What. The. _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, “Have you been _doing_?”

Kaldur raised one brow, bewildered. “Bugging the ship to spy on the crew,” he said slowly, carefully resting one hand on Roy’s prodding finger.”We discussed this yesterday. The plan to place the League transmitters against the portholes of the crew’s living quarters?”

Roy deflated. In the midst of his personal crisis he somewhat forgotten about the mission entirely. It was only day two of the two week long mission and he was already going off the rails.

Roy sighed, hand dropping to his side. “Sorry,” he grunted. “Hangover has my memory a little fuzzy.”

Kaldur shrugged, unbothered. “I got a later start to the task than I had planned,”  he admitted. “I had planned to begin late last night, but…” he trailed off, not exactly eager to bring up the events of last night. Roy seemed uninterested in questioning him about his fumbling advances, and if the redhead had forgotten that part of the evening then Kaldur certainly wasn’t going to remind him.

Roy laughed, scrubbing at his hair. “Yeah. Rosa and Bertha are probably the most dangerous people on the ship, huh?” Roy recovered, turning back inside to grab the leaflet. “I hope you brought workout clothes,” he said, handing it to Kaldur. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes to grab breakfast, then it's time for Zatanna’s favorite torture method.”

Kaldur perused the leaflet, pulling some clothes from his drawer in the dresser. “I highly doubt any of the counselors are as demanding a taskmaster as our favorite magician,” he dismissed.

* * *

One hour and fifteen minutes later, Kaldur contemplated the nature of folly as his eyes tracked the beads of sweat that streamed from Roy’s neck, under his hideous workout shirt, and down the sharp, defined line of the archer's frankly unnecessarily well-built arms.

 _You are an invitation to tragedy,_ he thought dourly at himself, back straining as he struggled to maintain the position their instructor--Becky, decked out in pink yoga pants and a sunny yellow t-shirt, because of course she would have failed to mention that she would be instructing them-- had contorted them into.

The ‘Crow Pose’ seemed to have been designed to torture Kaldur, specifically. It was one of few that he’d ever done that left his head largely free to move, and hence his eyes to look where the traitorous things pleased. In addition, it was one of the few poses he had ever seen Roy Harper succeed at--unsurprising largely because the pose’s only requirement appeared to be ridiculously strong biceps.

"And release," Becky said finally. Kaldur was gratified to see that the rest of the class fell from the position rather quickly, or had already given up and collapsed into sweating heaps. With the exception, of course, of Bertha and Rosa, who Kaldur was beginning to suspect to be tricksters or minor deities descended from the heavens to embarrass mortals.

At the front of the class Becky clapped her hands together cheerfully. "Alright, partners!" She said brightly, using the neutral term all crewmembers used to address the groups of couples. "Now that we've warmed up on our own, it's time start the team effort. Everyone grab your partner and get centered! The point of this portion isn't just to reconnect with your own body--it's also to help your partner reconnect with theirs, and to reconnect with them in turn!"

Kaldur's stomach tightened into a lead ball, plummeting through him like a stone. He caught Roy's eye, who besides looking a little strained by the exercise--Zatanna often teased him the most during their sessions back as a team, wondering how someone so athletic could be so inflexible--looked unperturbed by the change.

"Alright," Becky continued, moving to demonstrate the first position with a fellow counselor--dressed in an eye-watering purple and orange ensemble--who had appeared out of nowhere to assist her. "We're going to begin with the lower body and work our way up. First one partner needs to lay down like so." The other counselor lay belly-down on the mat, arms tucked under her chin.

Becky straddled her, kneeling so that one of her knees settled between the other woman’s own. "Then," Becky said, reaching back to gently clasp the other woman's ankle, "The other partner stands like so, and slowly pushes their partner's foot backwards to press into the small of their back."

Kaldur stared blankly, briefly considering throwing himself from the open deck into the sea. Roy was a capable hero. He could accomplish the mission alone, surely.

Then, because he was nothing if not dutiful, and because in moments like these his body tended to accomplish whatever task was at hand automatically, he lay down on the yoga mat. He figured that it would be less painful to allow a disinterested Roy to touch him than it would be to force himself to wear a double mask of fake intimacy while touching Roy himself. Pretending disinterest while helping Roy to stretch would not be a difficult task--he had accomplished it many times before, after their sparring session or the occasional difficult patrol.

Kaldur had fooled an entire panel of the Earth’s most accomplished villains and an entire alien civilization for over half a year.  Pretending disinterest while helping Roy to stretch would not be a difficult task--he had accomplished it many times before, after their sparring session or the occasional difficult patrol. But to feign a desire for the intimacy that he did, in fact, desire?

Impossible.

So Kaldur buried his face in his arms, doing his best not to tense when he felt Roy kneel over him, warm knee settling between his thighs.

Roy, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to hyperventilate.

He was about to touch Kaldur. _Not that_ , he thought to himself nervously as he settled between Kaldur’s legs, _that that was a thing that has never happened before_ . He had surely, in the decade that they’d known one another, touched Kaldur _plenty_ of times.

That didn’t seem to matter however, when faced with the feeling of his hand on Kaldur’s bare ankle. Kaldur’s skin was smooth and cool, and Roy was reminded, suddenly and mercilessly, of the strange intimacy from last night. The strange intimacy that he had, of course, ruined.

 _Not helping_ , he hissed internally, turning his focus to the task at hand. That was, the task of bending Kaldur’s leg back until the ball of his foot rested on the small of his own back.

Roy wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow. The Mediterranean morning was warm, and despite the fact that he was in what most would consider fantastic shape, yoga had never been Roy’s strong suit.

This situation where he now had an unparalleled view of Kaldur’s ass in yoga shorts? Not helping the perspiration.

Bracing himself and fixing his gaze pointedly on Kaldur’s back, Roy began pressing Kaldur’s leg forwards, slowly bending it to press the ball of Kaldur’s foot into his back. It was enviably easy, Kaldur’ himself showing no signs of strain from the exercise.

“Holy _shit_ , Fishsticks,” Roy hissed. “What are your bones made of? Rubber?"

Kaldur looked over his shoulder. His face was flushed, and a light beading of sweat had begun to gather on his brow. “Honestly, my love,” he said, voice tight. “It's not as if you weren’t aware of my _flexibility_.”

Roy blinked rapidly, briefly wondering what fantastic, parallel universe he’d wandered into where Kaldur made dirty jokes and called him by petnames.

And then he noticed Becky standing at their side, making her rounds and adjusting each couple’s positions.

Of course. Acting. Right.

Becky smiled cheerily, crouching down beside them. “Fishsticks?” she asked, curious. “How’d that nickname come about?”

Rory shrugged, more focused on willing certain parts of his anatomy to _chill the fuck out_ than on answering Miss-Bright-‘N-Perky’s questions. “He’s a swimmer, I made a couple merman comparisons, it stuck.”

Becky nodded. “Sounds cute. By the way, guys,” she continued, and there was a gleam in her eyes that Roy really didn’t like. “This is a couples cruise, and we openly encourage intimacy. I want you to do whatever is comfortable for you, but maybe it’s okay to lose the ‘room-for-Jesus’ rule? Just a thought.”

With that, she moved on to the next couple, completely oblivious of the baleful glare Roy was boring into her back.

“Did that just seriously happen?” He whispered pissily, leaning further into Kaldur’s leg. The other man grunted, finally beginning to feel some strain as his foot crept further up his own back.

“It would seem we have not been very convincing,” he replied. “A moment.”

Roy let up, allowing Kaldur space. Space he used to pull his top off. Stripped to his shorts, Kaldur turned, looking over his bare shoulder.

Roy stared, wide-eyed, before it hit him that the Atlantean expected him to do the same. He did so, flushing further red when Bertha wolf-whistled at him from her and Rosa’s position at the front of the room.

Settling back into their position, Roy thanked every god known to man and alien alike that he’d opted for compression shorts under his jersey workout shorts. He was basically lying skin-to skin along Kaldur’s back at this point, and things were afoot down below that no one--most especially Kaldur--needed to see.

“Think that’ll convince her?” Roy asked, leaning up to whisper in Kaldur’s ear. The heat must have been getting to him--the Atlantean’s skin was flushed, and his breathing seemed a little heavy.

“We can hope,” Kaldur said, cursing himself. No mission was worth this torture.

* * *

 

Becky had a problem.

 _Well,_ she amended, watching Rory and Kosta as they rolled up their shared yoga mat and made their way over to the mid-deck bar, **_We_ ** _have a problem._

Something had always seemed a little off about Rory Flanagan. Maybe it was the fact that, despite being engaged to a man who from all appearances could have been Beyonce’s son, he was a grumpy asshole. Maybe it was because after college Becky was permanently disinclined to trust anyone who wore frat-boy-pink board shorts and boat shoes.

It had taken until this morning, when she saw him without sunglasses for the first time, to realize that he looked strangely familiar. And it had taken until this session, when he had pulled off his overpriced workout jersey to reveal his bare arms to realize just who he was.

Those ridiculous, overworked biceps could only belong to one man. It was going to take a little more than some brown hair dye to hide the fact that Rory Flanagan was secretly _Red Fucking Arrow._

Becky, like many young people who went through puberty in Star City between the years of 2009 and 2012, had been a bit of an ‘Arrow-head’ back in the day. Specifically, she had had a huge, raging crush on Red Arrow. Posters in the bedroom, watched all the YouTube footage that people were able to catch of his takedowns, the works. She and her best friend Ryan _literally_ threw a party when he got accepted into the League after half a year of leaving the city.

So despite whatever methods he had apparently used to hide his identity--really, the only parts of his face that weren’t immediately recognizable were the bits usually covered by that domino mask he and half of the rest of the League wore--Becky knew exactly who Rory Flanagan really was the second she saw those stupidly nice biceps.

Internally fuming--because how stupid did he think they all were? What kind of superhero wears such a shitty disguise? It was _professionally_ disgraceful. Like Superman hiding his secret identity with, glasses! Or something--Becky walking calmly over to Cynthia, her fellow yoga instructor and best friend on this god forsaken ship.

“Hey, Cynth?” Becky put her arm over Cynthia’s shoulders, steering her away from stowing the yoga matts and towards one of the crew break rooms. “We have a bit of a situation.”

Cynthia groaned, head flopping dramatically to Becky’s shoulder. “Please tell me we didn’t get tapped for night patrol again? That’d be the third time this week!”

Becky shut the door the break room behind her, ensuring that none of the passengers, most importantly neither ‘Rory’ or ‘Kosta’-- _and shit_ , Becky realized, _who the fuck is he then?_ \--could eavesdrop. “Worse. We have a Leaguer aboard the ship.” Becky reconsidered. “Probably two. Not sure.”

Cynthia perked up. “Seriously? Like, what? In the hold? How did we capture them?” Her face scrunched in confusion. “How the hell didn’t anyone notice the fight?”

Becky shook her head. “We haven’t captured them-- _him_ \--yet. He’s been disguised as one of the passengers.”

Cynthia grabbed Becky’s hands in her own, bouncing in place. Despite her profession as a minion of an evil cult, she’d always been a bit of a League fangirl. Becky’d give her shit, but it wasn’t like she could talk. After all, she’d recognized Red Arrow by his biceps. If Cynthia was a bit of a nerd, Becky was a nerd _wizard_.

“Holy shit,” Cynthia whispered, practically vibrating in place. “How’d you figure it out? Did he use his powers? Which one is it?”

Becky looked Cynthia straight in the eye. “It’s Red Arrow. I recognized him by his biceps.”

Cynthia dropped Becky’s hands immediately, visibly deflating. “Damn it, Becky.” She looked down at Becky--she was ridiculously tall, even in the ugly flats that were a part of their uniform. “I was really excited for a second. Did Mike put you up to this?”

Becky blinked. “Uh? No?” She took Cynthia’s hands in her own now, earnest. “Cynth, I’m serious! Red Arrow is on this ship--he’s one of my couples! And he’s kinda a jerk!”

Cynthia gave her a look. “His _biceps_ , Becky? Seriously? That’s you evidence?”

Becky let go of Cynthia’s hands, throwing her own up defensively. “They’re really, really recognizable! Have you seen them? They’re ridiculous!”

Cynthia didn’t reply, just looked at Becky, pensive. “Wait, the frat bro with the Irish name? With the Beyonce looking guy for a fiancee?” Cynthia sighed. “Look, like. _Yeah._ His arms are stupid big and defined, especially for the rest of his body. But that doesn’t mean he’s Red Arrow, Beck.”

Becky scrubbed her hands over her face. Somehow she hadn't thought it'd take this much convincing. "Okay. Just. I'll ask Greg if he can run Mr. Flanagan's face through the software again. If its a ping, or even a partial ping, then do you think they'd consider it?"

Cynthia tugged Becky's hands off her face. "Girl, you'll get acne if you keep doing that when you're stressed. Also, the software doesn't just, like, recognize a face like that? Do you know how it works?"

Becky glared. "Psych degree, Cynth. Not Comp-Sci."

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, me neither. But I pay attention when Greg talks about his pet programs, unlike a certain someone." She breathed in deeply, then exhaled. Her voice was gentler when she continued. "The algorithm goes off of recognizable features like the area around the eyes, the nose, all that. That whole area is where the majority of the differences in people's faces is. The domino masks that most of the League wears? Covers that. They don't just wear them as _fashion statements_."

Becky huffed. "Okay, so obviously that won't work. But I recognize him!"

Cynthia put her hands on her hips. She was visible losing patience, which was starting to piss

Becky herself off. This shit was serious, and she wasn't wrong!

"Are you telling me," Cynthia said, "That you're better at recognizing facial features than a program that has been proven to be eighty percent more accurate than the average person?"

"I'm not the average person!" Becky yelled. "I know I'm right!"

Cynthia crossed her arms. "First off? Don't yell at me. Second? Prove it."

Becky fumed, grabbing the handle to the breakroom door and wrenching it open. "Fine! I will!"


End file.
